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<title>She's Worth Your Tears by LCampbellFE</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29370324">She's Worth Your Tears</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LCampbellFE/pseuds/LCampbellFE'>LCampbellFE</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drunk Driver, Nonfiction, Original work - Freeform, Sibling Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:35:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,529</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29370324</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LCampbellFE/pseuds/LCampbellFE</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the last piece I wrote in my first year of university back in 2017. It was my final piece for the class and I chose to wrote about my sister who was killed by a drunk driver back in 1993. I know that it can be an awkward thing for people hear, but I wanted to write a piece about my sister. Also, in 2021, my sister would have been 38 years old. </p>
<p>I'm also tempted to write a fictional story about two sisters, but the older sister is a spirit that the younger sister, who's now an adult, can see. It would 100% reflect my situation now as the younger sister who is twice the age of the older sister when she died. It would be interesting to depict the older sister as childish while the younger is grown. Let's see how that goes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

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<a name="section0001"><h2>She's Worth Your Tears</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>     If my sister was alive today, she would be thirty-four years old but her life was cut short at ten years old. It was on April 30th, 1993 when was killed by a drunk driver. I was born five years later and was robbed of having my sister physically in my life. </p>
<p>     Growing up without her has definitely been hard. My older brother M has always been close to our oldest brother S and it makes me jealous. There’s a picture of S and M when M was little, and he’s standing on the kitchen table with S beside him. They’re both wearing black turtlenecks and tan pants to look the same. They have a couple of pictures where they’re together and it’s hard knowing that I can never have pictures like that with Sarah as sisters. The only pictures I have with the two of us are cut outs that I taped together. The first one is of me as a baby sitting in a blue highchair with my right arm out on the tray and a big smile on my face. Sarah is in the same position in a wooden highchair with a bonnet on her head. The other picture has both of us, around the same age, with pigtails sticking straight out from the top of our heads. </p>
<p>     Despite her being my sister, it’s strange to have to learn about her through stories from the family members who knew her and not through memories that I’ve made with her myself. I’m lucky that I get to experience so many wonderful things in life like going to Disney in Florida, moving to another province, getting my first job at a small museum, getting my driver’s license, attending the Winnipeg Comic Con four years in a row, graduating high school and attending the Toronto Fan Expo for the first time. These are all amazing experiences that I wish I could have shared with Sarah physically, especially on my high school graduation day. With my royal blue graduation dress and high heels on, hair up and make up done, I knew that I wasn’t just graduating for myself that day. I just had this feeling that Sarah was with me and was sitting with my family in the crowd as all the graduates walked into the ice rink with their black cap and gowns on. </p>
<p>     When I was little, I understood that Sarah was gone and she would never be with us, but I never fully knew just how painful it actually was. Those cold days when mama, M and I would drive down to H------- from B-------- to go visit her in the cemetery were when I didn’t fully get it the most. We would sit on the grey stone bench and look down at the stone in the ground that said “Sarah L--- P------- 1983-1993”. Mama would be sobbing and I would be crying too, but only because she was crying. It was still a sad moment for me, but I didn’t completely understand the whole situation of her being gone. Seeing my mother cry was a strong image because she’s such a strong woman and seeing her break down made me want to cry too. </p>

<p></p><div>
  <p>~</p>
</div><p>     This past Christmas, M and I went to go see our dad in W-------- and he took us to go see Sarah. Mama, papa, M, the pets, and I had moved out to Manitoba so we hadn’t seen Sarah for five years. The wind was blowing hard that day and my hair was flying everywhere as we walked over to Sarah’s gravestone. The cemetery was a lot more barren than from what I remembered. My dad bent down to clear away all the dead leaves and grass from her stone so I could set down her flowers; pink carnations and one red rose. I knew that I wasn’t going to get upset, but once I saw her grave and had set down the flowers, I broke and so did my heart. All the thoughts and feelings that I had gained from growing up into a nineteen-year-old swelled up and I couldn’t hold back the tears. I held onto M’s right arm while my dad had my right. I was so sure that I was going to be okay but everything spilled over and I was suddenly overwhelmed. </p>

<p></p><div>
  <p>~</p>
</div><p>     In January, on my tenth or eleventh birthday, I remember sitting at the head of the wooden table in the kitchen with mama, papa, and M. I don’t remember clearly what I was doing, but I clearly remember mama looking down the hallway to the front door and smiling before saying “Sarah’s here.” I went pale in horror at her words because my first thought was that there was a ghost in my house! I had no reason to be afraid, but I was. Mama says that she can’t see Sarah as a ghost, but she shows herself as shadows and mama knows that it’s Sarah. I guess to some people that might seem strange but I grew up with my mom “seeing” her and having rare dreams of her so it all seemed normal to me. </p><p>     It was a cold December day when a bunch of family members came over to the house in B-------- for Christmas dinner per usual. Mama and papa were at the kitchen table talking to papa’s family while J, S's girlfriend, and M were listening in. That year was when my parents had bought me a brown, sparkly, poofy dress to wear to my dad's work’s Christmas party and I wore it again to look cute for the family. I distinctly remember S, who looked so tall at the time but now almost my height, asking me “does it bother you that you look so much like Sarah?” and I had said yes. This was during those awkward years that when I said yes, I actually had meant to say no and vice versa. It didn't bother me to look like Sarah because well, she's my sister. I believed that even though she's gone, a piece of her is inside me and we're sharing this life together. I still believe this today because I know that she's not completely gone. Yet thinking back on his question now, I'm glad that I said yes. From the day I was born to 10 years old, I would have just been this girl walking around reminding my mother, not only of her youngest, but also the child she lost. Now that I'm 19, the resemblance isn't there anymore.</p>
<p>     Being so much older than Sarah when she died is strange because I don’t have a sister to ask questions to about life. Sarah would have experienced the rough ride of high school, puberty, mental illness, relationships, and all that before me and I could have confided in her for help with dealing with it. I could have asked my friends but, to me at least, asking questions about puberty to a friend isn’t something you would do; at least when you first start to go through it. I would have given anything to have an older sister to help me deal with it, along with other struggles of growing up and relationships. I’m bad with relationships and it’s hard in another sense that I’m still trying to figure myself out. I can’t ask my mom because she never went through it but maybe Sarah never would have gone through it either. </p>
<p>     Thinking about Sarah and where I am right now in life collide frequently because I always wonder what Sarah would have done or in general, what type of person would she be. Sometimes I’ll sit or lay in bed and think about how her life would be. To this day, I still don’t understand why I do that to myself because it only makes me sad. It’s pointless to wonder anyway since it will never be but I can’t help but have these thoughts. I want to imagine the two of us as the best of friends and we would tell each other everything. Whenever she or I needed someone to talk to, the other would always be there for them. I end up reminding myself not to think about it too hard because if Sarah was still alive, would I even be here right now? It’s a scary thought to me and I don’t like to think about it, but again, I do. </p>
<p>     I’ve really been missing Sarah in my life more recently because, like I said, I’m still struggling with finding myself and having someone close, like a sister, to confide in is what I want most. Two of my best friends are sisters and it was painful sometimes to go over to their house because of the fact that they are sisters. They would fight over the silliest thing but would help each other with anything. Seeing them together makes me crave a sister’s love but I will never get it. It’s extremely unfair that I had that stolen from me because some guy made a stupid decision to get into a car to drive home while drunk. </p>
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